


Illusions

by Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Computer Viruses, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mind Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4264389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr/pseuds/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has a history to haunt them.  Mirage's history haunts him more than most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"Someone get Ratchet!"_

_"He's on his way-- what happened here?"_

_"He just collapsed!"_

_"Any prior signals? Symptoms? Head or chest damage?"_

_"Heavy psychological trauma-- he's from the Spires."_

_"Good Primus--"_

_"I'm here, what's-- Primus below! Mirage!"_

**

"Mirage?"

The young mech realized that his optics were offline. A bit disturbed to find that he was laying on what felt like the floor, he slowly powered them on again. As he thought it might, the light bit into his visual sensors, making him aware of the helm ache pounding into his cranium. A strange feeling grasped his spark when he realized who was looking down at him; Forte, his music instructor.

The emotion confused him so much that he entered the part of his spark which was singularly his and demanded to know its name. _Fear_ it whispered.

He was afraid. The young mech frowned slightly, absently accepting the hand he was offered, letting it assist him to his feet. He was afraid of Forte? _Why? Forte has never so much as said a harsh word to me. Why am I afraid of him?_

"Mirage?" The bronze tone penetrated his introspection, causing him to focus on the feed his optics were providing. It had been the third time, his audios supplied, two heard by his processor, one unmarked, that Forte's tones had called upon him, thick with worry.

"I am all right," the young mech assured, shaking his head slightly in an attempt to clear the static. "Simply...disoriented. What happened?"

"That is what I was about to ask you." The elder mech's hand had shifted to Mirage's shoulder. "You swooned and fell."

"Did..." one of his own hands was pressed against the side of his helm in an attempt to ease the ache through pressure alone. "Did I strike my helm on something?"

"Not even the floor. But you were complaining of a helm ache, earlier. Perhaps we should cut the lesson short so you may go home and recharge."

"Complaining?" The shock in his tone would have been comical even to him, had he been able to pay attention. "Me?"

"Which is why I remarked upon it. Did you recharge last night or were you caught up in another of your stories?"

"I...do not remember." His vision was flickering in and out of focus again, prompting a frown from his refined features. Another feeling stirred in his spark; an almost painful hope. Where was this coming from, the fear and the hope? "I want to see my sister."

"You told me the rest of your family was at Chrome Spire this solar, across the city, which is why you were alone."

The helm ache, which had been receding, burst into an intense pulsing, forcing him to one knee. "No," he managed weakly, "no-- I must see her. Oasis!"

Forte's hands were firm on his shoulders, but he felt himself falling despite their burning touch. "Mirage!"


	2. Chapter 2

He blinked, finding himself in a chair at the edge of a room crowded with mechs who were murmuring to each other, punctuated with trickles of polite laughter. The kind which had always grated on his receptors as being insultingly false.

"Back with us?" A dispassionate voice said. He looked up to see one of his friends, though the mech's name wasn't currently in his processor.

"Yes," he said, appalled to find his voice a mere whisper. He reset his vocalizer.

"I think you had too much," his friend said, obviously amused and a bit unstable on his feet, speaking to his own overcharge. Mirage tested his systems and wasn't surprised to find no engex in them whatsoever; he had never enjoyed the taste.

"I have not had any," he murmured, glad his voice was stronger. His friend frowned, the expression looking odd in his ice blue face, the same color as his optics. It came to Mirage, as it had before, that if it weren't for the slim black lines outlining his optics, one wouldn't be able to tell where the mech's face left off and the optics began.

"Again? These helm aches are becoming tiring, Mirage. I will call a medic."

"No--" Mirage stood, a frown slipping onto his own face. "No. I am all right. It is simply stress, I believe. I will retire early--"

There was a form in the crowd which was jarringly out of place. He stared, refusing to believe his optics. This face didn't belong. Not _here_. And yet, he couldn't bring up a name to match it. "Who is that?"

His friend turned to drop his gaze onto the mech. "Ah. Sysop is slumming again. Invited a...singer, actor, whatever." His face folded into a sneer. "He says his name is Jazz. I spoke with him earlier. He imitates well enough but he is obviously _common_ \--"

"No." The word was breathed, fear again gripping him.

"Mirage?" His friend was peering, expression mildly curious. "Whatever is the matter? I doubt the mech is dangerous."

"No, this is wrong," Mirage said, backing toward a door. "Jazz should not be here. Not here."

"You know him? How?"

"I...do not remember." The young mech shook his head sharply, turning to place a hand on the door. "I do not want him to be here!"

"Hey, Mirage--!"

But he was gone. The invisibility drive was shielding him from most sensors and his movement keeping the rest from finding him. Still he ran, hardly knowing what he was running from. He knew only he needed to get as far away from the mech calling himself Jazz as was possible. Away from the familiar-not-familiar visor and easy smile. Away from the graceful movements and flare of doorwings, casually cast even while others tucked their own tightly against their backs, as was proper.

When had he arrived in his room? Brushing the question from his mind, Mirage reached for the mid-grade which had been keeping him awake since the helm-aches had started. He couldn't recharge, though why wasn't exactly clear in his mind. A sense of panic and foreboding every time he prepared to set his systems to the much-needed recharge.

He slumped against the wall, shaking. Everything was so confusing! He felt the familiar texture of the wall under his fingers and found himself fighting back optic fluid. How could one intensely long for a texture if it was beneath ones fingers?

_None of this is real,_ a voice whispered. His own voice.

Time distorted and he was standing before his creator, watching and listening impassively to his angry words. His face blurred between the one he knew and one which was almost familiar; a white helm and red chevron framing a silver face.

"You are still not paying attention to me! What is wrong with you? Mirage!"

"What is wrong with me?" He murmured, lifting one hand to rub his face. "A very good question. One which I would like to know the answer to myself."


	3. Chapter 3

_A long, low sigh._

_Quietly. "Jazz?"_

_"I'm fine. Sure this is th' best way t'go about this? He don't look good."_

_"I take it you were not able to make contact."_

_"Don't give me that. He's got his invisibility drive."_

_"You expected he would not? It is a part of him."_

_"I'll go in again in a bit. How much time do we got?"_

_"That depends entirely on Mirage. You said you could convince him."_

_"Even I can't convince a mech I can't talk to. He bolted when he saw me...like I was the ghost, instead--"_

_"Are you saying now that you can not do this?"_

_"You'd be better; you're high class. For all my dancin' I'm a street-speaker an' they know it."_

_"Then you are not trying hard enough. Find neutral ground."_

_"Don't exist here. This is all him."_

_"You must. I do not need to remind you what will be lost if we fail."_

_"Y'just did. Next time, Prowl, you're the one in the field."_

_"Do not be counter-productive--"_

_"Primus you don't know how t'take a joke. See ya on the other side."_

_"Good luck."_

_"I'll save my luck for when I really need it. Thanks, though."_

**

To be alone without being closed in was something he cherished, particularly since the headaches had started. Now, as the others were preparing for a turbo-fox hunt, he had the rare chance. The actual hunt wasn't something he had ever enjoyed. There was something pure and relaxing about spending time with the turbo-pups, though, something which eased the ache in his helm and helped him settle the uneasy feeling in his spark. It wasn't encouraged by Aura, of course, but then nothing was really encouraged by Aura save unquestioning obedience to the older mech. Illusion, only two stellar cycles younger then Mirage, was using up all of Aura's patience with all of the sparklings all on her own, leaving the need for the others to tread lightly. Mirage in particular had to watch himself, since he was heir.

Footsteps caused the pup under his hands to raise its ears and give a rumbling growl. Mirage raised his head, frowning faintly at the image before his optics. _Please don't let me have another helmache. Not in front of_ him.

"I hate to see those hands so dirty." The sentence was said in what most would assume was a tolerant sigh. Mirage knew better. "Come, Mirage. The hunt begins."

"I will be there," Mirage murmured, guiding the pup back into its kennel.

"Really." This time, the tone was flat and disapproving. "It is time to stop these sparkling antics. I do not know what bug has gotten into your processor lately but it is not only your own reputation you are squandering. It is my own and Aura's, as well."

"They are not 'sparkling antics'." Rising, he unspaced a cloth to clean his hands of whatever imagined filth the pup might have left. When he had his feet he matched gazes with the mech with whom Aura had arranged his bonding, to cement a trade agreement. The fact that Mirage didn't particularly like Vice had been immaterial. It hadn't bothered Mirage at the time; now it did.

"Making a spectacle of yourself at the gathering? Disagreeing publicly with Aura? Really, you are behaving like a common ruffian. Hardly becoming of a mech of your stature."

Optics dim, Mirage simply listened, nodding in all the right places despite the slight frown forming on his face. _Why have I tolerated this down-talk for so long? Why am I unwilling to tolerate it any longer? So many 'why's' now..._

"--You are not even listening to me. Come, now, Mirage!"

"I am listening," Mirage said, returning his gaze to Vice's light blue one.

A hand fell on Mirage's shoulder, causing him to start and glance in that direction. Though the visor and the face were familiar, the build of the body was completely different, as was the posture. Proud but not haughty, crisp silver lines with tints of blue and sharp black edging. This mech belonged in the Spires, even if his hands were slightly rough from work. In this form, the help the mech was silently offering was gratefully accepted; Mirage stood straighter, glad to at least have the physical support the mech was providing.

Vice had flinched ever so slightly when Mirage's shoulder had been touched. It was nothing new; Mirage was aware of the intense dislike Vice had for physical contact with anyone. Vice's expression slithered into a sneer. "Unhand him. Who do you think you are? This is private property!"

The visored mech simply smiled, completely unimpressed by Vice's posturing. "Ghost."

It was amazing how a single word could cause Vice to take a step back in fear, when little else could get through his arrogance. Everyone knew of Ghost, after all, the one mech in all of Cybertron for whom there were no consequences. More than two dozen deaths had been accredited to his hands, yet he walked free, passing through all societies from the elite of the Spires and Kaon to the slums of Lowtown Iacon and the Wastelands. There had been several investigations into who he was, yet they all seemed to just disappear, the mechs on the projects simply reassigned without any explanation. After a few moments, the fear shifted to disbelief and his stance firmed. "I am expected to believe that you are Ghost? You are--"

"Common?" The mech asked with a soft chuckle, not lifting his hand from Mirage's shoulder. All three mechs knew he was laughing at Vice, though the sound was so gentle that Vice seemed to have to struggle to take offense to it. "Go on the hunt. I have something to discuss with Mirage and will return him when the time is right."

**

"Who are you?" Mirage's searching gaze was confronted by Ghost's calm, unreadable visor.

"Who you need me to be."

The young mech paused, watching the city glitter below them. "What is all this?"

"A mental breakdown."

He turned, regarding the elegant, if a bit shorter, mech walking beside him. "The headaches, disorientation, blackouts? All of it?"

"Mostly. I may be causing the headaches inadvertently."

"Am I dying?"

"Yes."

Mirage stared in disbelief and more than a bit of unease. "How can you say that so calmly?"

"Because you needed to hear it." The hand landed gently on his shoulder again, comforting and warm, at sharp contrast to the non-temperature of the air around them. "This place is killing you. I need you to come with me."

He could feel his expression shifting to disappointed. "Oh. Metaphorically dying."

"No. Literally. Disappointed to the idea you are not?"

"No, disappointed I am still not receiving any answers."

"I have given you what I have."

Mirage fell quiet, leaning against the floor to ceiling window to gaze down at the city for a long time. Ghost didn't so much as shift. "What will you do if I do not come with you?"

"The Spires will fall, either way. You will die, or you will survive, as what happened before."

Optics shuttering, Mirage slid to his knees. "Must they?"

"Yes."

"Must I survive?"

"That, this time, is entirely up to you." Ghost paused, now kneeling beside Mirage, his hand on his shoulder. "Mirage, I would sorely miss you, should you choose not to live. Others, would, as well. We all count you as friend, not because someone told us to or because of your position or family...but purely on the merit that you are Mirage."

"This is my home!" Mirage protested, pushing away to stand. Ghost rose gracefully, regarding him with the same calm expression. "This is my family! I _belong_ here!"

"Are you happy?"

The calm question sliced through the helm ache, pulling him to a stop as forcefully as the other mech's hand would have, had he not been standing several paces away. "Of course!"

The mech standing before him, hands on his shoulders, was not Ghost. It was Jazz. Black and white paint, red and blue racing stripes, Autobot symbol on his chest, expression earnest. "Say it, Mirage. If you say it, I'll leave you alone an' never return. You can die here, instead a' comin' back with me."

"I--" A sharp sting brought his attention to his arm. He looked down to see a hypospray pressed against his armor. Dimming optics found Jazz's gaze with an accusatory expression. "You--!"

"I ain't a pretty-mech, Mirage. Recharge. When you wake up, we--"


	4. Chapter 4

_"Primus damn you, Jazz. That wasn't what I wanted! I wanted him to pull out of it on his own!"_

_"Then why'd you give me the stimulant? Look, Ratch, he wasn't gonna pull out of it. He'd convinced himself that what he was seein' was reality."_

_"That doesn't mea--"_

_"Yes, it does." A low, tired sigh. "I've got a helmache. I'm goin' to recharge. Wake me up when he's awake an' coherent."_

_"Why bother?" The words were dripping in bitter sarcasm._

_"Because I want him to know why I pulled him out."_

_"Why did you? You could have caused irreparable damage--"_

_"Same reason I pulled you out of that bar after Gasket was killed. I'd rather he hate me than hate himself for the decision he had to make."_

_A long pause, accompanied by the beeping and whirring of medical equipment. "You live a lonely life, Jazz."_

_"Just the decisions I gotta make to keep everyone else's hands clean, that's all. An' I ain't so lonely at the end of the solar, not like everyone'd think."_

_"Go to recharge."_

**

The steam had ceased long before. The warmth had gone almost completely from the cup, giving the knowledge that, logically, the liquid inside was going cold as well. Even so, he could not bring himself to raise the mug to his lips, gaze fixed on the depths.

"Now, that expression at this time of night would cause me t'worry 'bout the frame of mind of the mech belongin' to said expression. However, since it's you, I won't press."

The words were quiet enough to slip into his audios under the murmured conversations being held in scattered groups across the room. Mirage knew the owner of the voice and so allowed a smile to tip onto his face, just slightly. This caused his company, who had shifted in such away which told his intent to keep going without further comment, to pause.

"A smile? For me?"

"Yes." Mirage nodded to the seat opposite and finally lifted his optics to meet Jazz's visor. "Please."

With the silent grace Mirage knew from working countless missions with him, the higher-ranked agent moved into the semi-private booth, a small amount of relief brightening his face. "Thought you'd want me t'steer clear of ya for a while, considerin'."

"With logical deductions like that, some may begin to mistake you for Prowl."

"Hey now." They both knew he wasn't offended; the point was to take measure of the other's mood with how they responded to the script. "There's no need to be insultin'."

"I will be sure to let him know you think of him thus."

Mirage was quiet, in a good enough mood to joke and introspective.

"Maybe I'll get thrown in the brig for some good recharge."

Jazz was cautious, yet relaxed and a bit weary.

"Thank you for protecting me in the stables...even if Vice was not real in the strictest sense, he still had the ability to pin me in place by words alone."

The young mech was rewarded with a blank look. "Stables?"

"Yes, where you--" Mirage paused, brow pinching ever so slightly. "That was not you?"

"I was gonna follow you into the stables but there was somethin' blockin' me." Jazz slowly shook his head, leaning back in his seat. "I only just got to you when you were alone in the hallway."

"Alone? Odd..." The puzzled frown increased in severity. "I thought you had taken on the guise of Ghost. It made perfect sense to me that you were him."

"Ghost?" Jazz laughed softly, shaking his head in denial again. "I ain't Ghost. He was operatin' long before I was built. I can't take credit for any of his work, much's I'd like to."

"Who was it, then?"

"Part of you, maybe. Semi-latent Survival programmin'."

This time Mirage shook his head in denial. "I do not believe that to be the case. His hand, similar to yours, was warm when it was on my shoulder."

"I'd noticed how cold it was in there. No offense."

The young mech gave a slight smile. "None taken. The mind of a dying mech would be cold, I imagine."

Jazz leveled him with a searching gaze. "What d'you need t'get warm?"

Mirage finally took a sip of the cooling, yet still warm against his lips, liquid in his mug. "Kind words and a mystery to solve have gone a long way."


End file.
